Seven Dead Mariuses
by Argentine Rose
Summary: I love AU fics and I hate Marius. So I have perverted cannon seven times, each one resulting in the demise of M Pontemercy.


A/N All quotation from The Brick are made from the Norman Denny translation

_Monsieur Mabeuf, white and haggard, eyes glaring with the wild light of madness, waived the flag and repeated:  
"Long Live the Republic!"  
_Crouched at the corner of the Rue Mondetour, Marius watched in horror. What was he to do? That this old man, over eighty and harmless as a fly, should stand atop the barricade whilst he, Marius, cowered in a doorway like a rat. That his friend should stand before the muskets of twelve hundred soldiers whilst he looked on. Only one thing was to be done.  
Marius dashed forward from his hiding place, scaling the barricade as if propelled by some supernatural agency. He reached Mabeuf just as the voice of the unit's commanding officer cried out  
"Fire!"  
At that moment Marius flung himself over the old man.  
In the quiet of that night, Combeferre and Feuilly scaled the barricade to look for wounded. They found M Mabeuf, unhurt bur deeply shocked and covered with blood, pinned under Marius' body

2) _While Marius looking at it, a soldier levelled his musket at him._

At that exact moment, on the Pont au Change, a young woman dressed oddly in corduroy trouser and an old brown coat, was to be seen meditatively shredding a letter and casting the pieces into the water. Moments later, seeming to regret her actions, she scrambled up onto the parapet and jumped in after them.

The soldier squeezed the trigger and Marius fell, the bullet having pierced his heart.

3_)"Clear out or I'll blow up the whole place!" Marius cried as he brandished the torch over the open powder keg.  
_Both the rebels and the soldier scrambled back from the barricade nervously. Could the black haired lad possibly be as mad as he was handsome and badly dressed?  
"If you blow up the barricade you'll blow yourself up as well," pointed out a sergeant.  
"And myself as well," said Marius, lowering the torch.  
"Well," called the sergeant, unsheathing his sword, "I call your bluff."

4) _But then he looked again in the mirror and saw the words reflected . . . This was Cosette's handwriting. He saw it all.  
_For a moment he stood, perfectly immobile, and then fell in a dead faint. The whole procedure was strangely reminiscent of a man before a firing squad.  
Unconsciousness transposed itself to sleep, the great healer, and it was not until the early afternoon that Valjean came to himself. Shakily, he got up, clutching the dresser for support. Toussaint entered the room in a state of great agitation.  
"What is it?"  
"T – t – the insurrection – it's over. The b – barricade has fallen."

5_)"Clear out!" said Valjean.  
Javert walked on slowly and a moment later had turned into Rue des Precheurs_.  
Hiding in the Rue des Precheurs was a young sergeant named Henri Lafitte, who was not one of the brightest. Seeing what he thought to be an insurgent attempting to escape the barricade he levelled his musket and shouted  
"Stop, or I shoot!"  
Javert, assuming that Valjean had experienced a change of heart, carried on walking.  
Lafitte fired, and his aim was impeccable. He did not, in fact, stop congratulating himself upon it until he found Gisquet's signed letter in the 'insurgent's' watch pocket.

6_)"How are you going to get out?"  
Valjean made no reply. Thenardier went on:  
_"Alright, we'll go halves."  
"What do you mean?"  
"You've killed a man and have to get away – but the door's locked. I have a key/"  
Thenardier reached under his smock and began to feel about.  
"I certainly had a key," he said, pulling a concerned face. He began to pat himself down with a slightly frantic air. "It was here – I opened the grille. Then I . . ."  
In horror he looked down at the filth at his feet. Sinking to his knees he began to mutter in a desperate, exasperated voice: "it can't be . . I had it . . I can't have . . "

7) _Javert's face twitched, as always happened when someone thought him capably of making a concession. But he did not refuse._ Instead he bent down, wet his handkerchief and began to bathe Marius' forehead, cleaning off the dried blood. Valjean noted that the inspector made a sure, confident nurse – if not a gentle one. The boy did not stir throughout.  
"Marius," muttered Javert as he took the boy's pulse.  
"He's wounded," said Valjean unnecessarily, his tone between explanation and apology.  
"He's dead," said Javert with simple confidence.  
This remark irritated Valjean. He had not carried the youth through the mire of the Parisian sewer only to have Javert – of all people – pronounce him dead.  
"No, no he's not. And how would you know?"  
"I took his pulse," said Javert with that air of irritating naivety that had always irked Valjean.  
"He's alive, I tell you," Valjean said, taking up Marius' wrist, "I can feel a pulse."  
"No," said Javert, "you're doing it wrong. See, you're using your thumb. All you're taking is your own digital pulse. Use your first two fingers."  
Valjean did as he was instructed. He felt nothing.  
"Ah. I'm sorry, Inspector – you were right. Nothing."


End file.
